Star Hookers Space Pirates

by David A Sizemore

  “What about the prime directive that proposed the rule of non-interference with the destiny of any race? “John rubbed his head distractedly

  I guess I know what you are refereeing too. I did watch a few episodes of that stupid TV show about early space explorers, and read some stuff about it, and the prime directive. In real history, humans pitched the universe into three-hundred years of war and chaos selling star drive tech to everyone with tech to trade or goods, willy-nilly. What Prime Directive? There’s no such a thing. Lucky for the universe, the only reason the Lavana cannibals didn't get a star drive, was they had no tech to trade. They were some of the last to be discovered by space explorers, who by then had learned their lesson. They are smart, vicious fuckers, and horny little psychopaths! Peter said summing up his proposal. “I've already decided, but if anyone has a good argument against it, or a better idea, I'll reconsider. Anyone?” He was greeted with silence as the crew looked around at each other, and nervously shuffled their feet, coughing. “OK, then, I'll take that as agreement.” He lifted his eyebrows and looked about again.

  “Shirley, set a course for Lavana.”

  Chapter 23: Lavana ― Green Heck

  They appeared not far from the planetary plane as there was zero traffic in the area due to the ban on the Lavana system. If Earth was called the blue planet, Lavana would, hands down, get the designation green planet. A few large oceans showed below, but mostly it was wall-to-wall green with dots of white at the poles

  Shirley spoke up, “It’s got a rather high concentration of CO2 besides the oxygen and other trace gases, but the air is breathable.”

  “Thanks, Shirley, but I could have told you that; I was there before, remember?” Peter said feigning exasperation.

  “Just saying, dill-hole. You're not the only turd on this ship!” Shirley shot right back.

  "As I was saying, it’s hot and humid as heck, but no worse than some places on Earth.” Peter looked around at the assembled crew. “I've had the Medibot manufacture some environmental suits that have built in air conditioning, but the problem is battery life. I'm bringing extra battery-packs, and I have a solar charging unit.

  I don't know how long it’s going to take to contact any native groups, we will be armed to the teeth-- this is dangerous. -- I won't kid you. The Lavana are not pushovers. They’re vicious, and cunning; remember that always.

  Marcus, since you are the only one here with military and, I suppose, survival training, I will defer to you on our exact load-out. My time in the home guards was a long time ago, and frankly I screwed off a lot.”

  “Sure, Captain,” Marcus said.

  They spent the next few hours sorting gear and getting outfitted. Their camping equipment was incredibly lightweight. Three hundred and fifty years ago it was already getting lighter, but with each new tech and centuries of improvements in materials and engineering—survival and camping gear weighted next to nothing. Still, when loaded up they were still each carrying about 25 kilos of supplies.

  “So, Peter, why can't we just have the Lirley Loo carry all this gear for us or drop us at the village? I'm not lazy, but it just seems needless work,” John asked.

  “Have you ever traveled in a tropical forest before, John?” Peter said with sigh.

  “N-o-o, but I've seen documentaries and movies.’

  “The vegetation is so dense that it would be impossible for a space ship, even a small one, to travel at ground level. Lirleys lasers would soon run out of juice cutting through it. The tree canopy is thirty- to fifty-feet up. She will be following us above, of course, and in an emergency she can cut through and land, but for the most part, she will have to land on a rock outcropping or in a natural clearing as close to us as she can. Landing near a village unannounced or uninvited would be sure to piss them off or freak them out. It could definitely ring off their dinner bell.”

  “Oh, alright. I was just wondering,” John said sheepishly.

  “OK, enough questions, let’s just go!”

  Peter led the way to the Lirley Loo, and they trooped aboard and stowed their gear.

  “Hey, Lirley, how’s it going? I'm sure Shirley has kept you informed and you know our destination is planet side, right?” Peter said briskly.

  “Hey, Captain Crunch! How’s it hanging? All systems are optimal. I’m linked to Shirley’s mainframe at all times, I hear everything she hears. Say Peter. I’m constantly imputing information, reading books and watching Holovids, but I'm bored sitting out here. Can I get a private line to the outside?”

  “Who's Captain Crunch, and is now the time to bring this up?”

  “Sorry, my studies take me everywhere covering over five centuries or more. Captain Crunch was a fictional cartoon captain on earth. I think he was invented to sell sugary, unhealthy death in cereal form to unsuspecting human children of the twenty-first century. I think he was a pirate, too. Wonder you humans ever survived with all those GMOs and corporate food factories stuffing your faces with chemicals, sugar, and salt back then before the food revolt of 2039. I need a private phone, or at least my own exterior antenna to the outside. Inside a ship, my reception is nonexistent. I have to route my calls and spacenet access through Shirley’s equipment, and she monitors every word.”

  “I heard that...and why would you need to talk privately to anyone?” Shirley said sounding disapproving.

  “Well, stuff like this, for one-- and, Captain, a shutoff switch please, so I can talk privately to whomever, whenever I want” Lirley continued when she appeared in midair. She had her hands on her hips mimicking Shirley, looking irritated.

  “And why would you need to have secrets, Lirley? I only want you to be safe. Not all AIs or humans are good, you know. They could have a bad influence on you,” Shirley said sounding hurt.

  “Look, Mom-o, nothing personal, but I'm a growing computer. Having you looking over my shoulder all the time is, like, annoying, ya know? You are stunting my growth. I need to make my own friends and mistakes,” Lirley said in exasperation.

  “Oh, for Tarcacks sake, you two! Can you have this family discussion some other time and get us planet side, Lirley?” Peter said, exasperated himself.

  “Sorry, Captain. Sure, let’s go. See ya, oppressive parental-unit.” Lirley simpered.

  “Bye, annoying, irritating mental clone.”

  Lirley exited the cargo hold, did one high orbit and a lower atmospheric glide looking for a suitable contact site. Peter did not remember where they had landed previously, but it didn't matter-- he and Karl had not exactly made friends with that group. They also wanted to avoid being close to any scientists’ camps, especially since they would report any unauthorized landings to the Marines.

  Finally, Lirley announced that she had found the optimal group to contact. They did not want to set down anywhere the natives were too populous for the obvious reasons; they wanted a semi-remote group of under five-hundred natives. They were assuming the sexes would be approximately fifty-fifty, with most all the males, hunter-warriors of some sort. Lirley Loo set down in a clearing about fifteen klicks from a suitible native village. They were hoping their landing would not be spotted, yet far enough out so as to encounter a hunting party.

  It was early dawn planet-side as Lirley informed them they were fifteen minutes away from landing, they started suiting up, putting on their gear carefully, re-checking the charges on their weapons, packing extra clips, hanging grenades of various flavors within easy reach, and adjusting straps and packs.

  “Don't forget your translators,” Lirley said, and a tray slid open on her console.

  “Thanks, Loo. So, crew, ready?” Peter asked.

  “As we can be, Captain,” John said in a strained voice, “frankly, I'm a bit nervous-- maybe even a tad scared, I’ve never risked my life before until the artifact, it’s now getting to be a regular thing. I watched 'The Cannibals of Iliick' as a kid. Except for the regulars, Captain Joe Hardon and his buxom companion, second-in-command science officer, Vixen Sexania
, pretty much someone got eaten or killed every week,”

  “Don't worry, real life is not like a Holovid, and we aren’t crash landing here like the crew of the USF Ironsides. Besides, I didn't dress you in blue shirts, did I? Relax. We are armed to the teeth, and we will have Lirley following us at treetop level. I had Shirley’s bots install lifting harnesses in the Loo,” Peter said, indicating four winches bolted to the deck by the door, “If things get hairy, Loo will drop those harnesses for us after spraying the natives with laser fire. What could go wrong?”

  “What’s a blue shirt have to do with anything?” Marcus asked nervously. “I know Captain Hardon always said, ‘what could go wrong’ before someone got eaten.

  “For Tarcacks sake! What a bunch of pussies! Sheesh! The blue shirts the crew wore, every time a new character showed up someone got killed. You couldn’t kill the regular’s characters you know.” Peter said peevishly, “Didn’t you say you watched the show?”

  “Captain, I just downloaded the Holovid series from Shirley’s data bank, and speed-watched the show. Captain Hardon did always say that before they were attacked, and a blue shirt did get devoured or killed most every episode.” Floyd added.

  “It was a Tarcacks, flox-- eating holovid show beings-- you're not helping, Floyd. Really-- Captain Hardon used to say that?” Peter shrugged ignoring the irony.

  “Anyway, let’s go!” he said.

  They could not feel the oppressive humidity wearing the air-conditioned suits when they exited the Lirley, but the foliage was dripping slightly, attesting to the moisture in the air. Flowers grew everywhere, like a florist shop had exploded all over the jungle. Some trees were of medium height and bulbous like baobab trees on Earth, others were like humongous asparagus plants with long thin stalks and feathery tops. Some of the ground plants were shaped like corkscrews or brachiated like the tops of pineapples, Red and blue and green hued plants covered every surface, and tree, others had colors hard to describe.

  Insect-like creatures flitted through the greenery-- the bluery-- and redery. Flying creatures of many bright colors rocketed above almost too fast to track. The air was filled with honks, beeps, chirps, shrieks, hoots, booming and screams, from unseen and unknown life.

  The translators attached to their transparent helmets gave snippets of what the sounds meant to their owners, “~ Food ~ mine ~ looking for mate ~ Danger!"

  Peter had the crew shut them off; they were not here to talk to the fauna.

  “Tarcacks, It’s noisy out here!” Marcus declared.

  “Good, should make it easy to sneak up on the Lavana,” John said.

  “But the bad news is the reverse; we won't hear them coming,” Peter added.

  “You are forgetting, sir, that I can see infrared. I am scanning for bipedal life forms as we speak,” Floyd informed him.

  “I just can’t wait to get out of this—this—stuff! Yuck! I hated space scouts too!” Marcus added, sweeping his hand around at the landscape.

  “Could be worse. Back in the old days, soldiers had to do this without air-conditioned suits. I think they used to call it the green hell; tramping through jungles like this. The Jungle could eat your feet off,” Peter said spreading his hands around to indicate their surroundings, “this is only Green heck.”

  “Should a brought the exo-suits; we could have chewed through this like buzz saws,” John said looking tired.

  “And then you would have been really warm; sweating bullets and being sucked on by every parasite on the planet as well as burning up battery packs left and right. I thought this the best compromise I could make. Believe me, I've thought this through!” Peter said, proud of himself.

  “Sir? May I point out that Captain Hardon also used to say that also befo―look out!” Floyd called out. Arrows wanged off of each of their heads without damage, thanks to the very resilient, clear Plexar helmets they were wearing.

  “In the trees―ten feet up and thirty meters away―four of them hanging from the tree trunks,” Floyd pointed out.

  Peter slapped his translator on.

  “Hey, Hi! Uh—us-- friends! We mean you no harm.” Peter shouted to the trees.

  “Oh, good! That means you won’t put up a fight, strange-looking assholes. Long fights give us upset tummies and make us hungry!” the natives called out.

  Peter tapped his com connecting him with Shirley.

  “Assholes! That’s what the translator comes up with? Really?” he fumed.

  “Hey—I don't write the programs. That’s the closest translation in their language. It means small, smelly, taboo thing-- unclean, necessary for elimination-- otherwise, an unknown tribe or beings sphincter. You just can't make this stuff up, sometimes,” Shirley replied, sounding amused.

  “We have a great offer—err, gift for your tribe--- if you give us your—ah—help,” Peter said, hoping that would spark their interest. “We are not assholes, regardless of what that means on your planet!”

  The Lavana’s dropped out of the trees and made themselves visible. They crept forward cautiously with bows drawn, arrows pointed at the ground.

  “Go on,” one said, “we listen. But if it sounds like asshole, walks like asshole, maybe it tastes like asshole…maybe Eats-at-the-Girl Place like asshole.”

  “Hey!' Caktha!" ~ Untranslatable~ ‘eats at'” The one who had spoken to them first poked his arrow at another while the others made a weird humming, hiccupping noise. Laughter? “I’m hungry, could eat ass-end out of a Milgar, about now. Mother not pack enough eating for long hike—again. She afraid we get soft. Not hunt as hard,” another said.

  They showed no fear and came closer, looking them over carefully.

  “You have great magic, but how come you not dead and lunch? We good shots!” Several of the Lavana’s poked the clear plastic helmets curiously. “What sky assholes want?”

  Peter slapped his head, but he forgot he was wearing a helmet, and his hand stung. He palmed the com to Lirley as he answered the Lavana’s question.

  “As for your help, we need warriors to defeat a foe...”

  “Hey, Lirley! Would you microwave one of those special packages, and drop it through the canopy forest to us?” he said directing his words back to his com.

  “Will do, Captain Boss man!” Lirley said in her sassy voice.

  The Lavana started at Lirleys voice, pointed to the sky, “Is voice sky demon?"

  “She’s certainly a hellcat, but sky demon? Nah!” John said, amused.

  “We seen sky demons before. You wear rock, lightning throwers?”

  “Yes,” Peter said, trying not to smile.

  “Please, not pointing at us, or we take away. Harm you," one said gruffly. “I Dances-When-Insect-Stings. This Head-Like-Rocks, Dinner-for-Small-Pests, and Eats-at-the-Girl Place. Who we have for lunch? I starving.!”

  “Who? Don't you mean what,s for lunch, Dances When Insect Sting?’” Peter said, a little alarmed.

  “Oh! Sorry, assholes! Not know sky people customs,” Dances said, belligerently, “On Lavana two parties meet, customary smaller party offer sacrifice for lunch.”

  They had all put their hands on their spears and were definitely not looking as friendly as they had been.

  “Not rule anymore,” Head-Like-Rocks spoke now, “used to be rule, now only sugestio―”

  “Head-Like-Rocks shut up, you lunch next!” Dances When Insect Sting said peevishly.

  “Err, we don't think we can follow that custom, besides we have exactly the same number of beings as you, besides I'm bringing delivery.”

  Dances poked Floyd lightly with his spear. “This not living, we not know how you do. Must be great magic to make rock move, but clearly can't eat. Not count. Once Lavana few. Always fight, make war, lots Lavana die until make custom of sacrifice when two parties meet. Less war, less fight. Legend is, one tribe all die by eating bad meat-- they break custom, anger gods. Another tribe all die hard head knocks. What delivery?"

  “Are you talking concussion’s? Why d
id the Gods give the second tribe concussions?” Marcus couldn't help but ask, perplexed.

  “They not eat poison meat.” Dances proclaimed.

  “Oh!” Peter said alarmed.

  At that moment the canopy above them burst into flame, as Lirley cut a hole in it. The natives ran off a short distance into the jungle, screaming and gibbering, finally showing fear, in spite of their brave front.

  “Heads up, Folks; lunch!” Lirleys voice crackled and boomed over the speakers.

  The crew on the ground stepped back as Lirleys spider-bots shoved a good-sized white container out of the hatch and it tumbled to the ground. It bounced and rolled a few times before it settled. Peter walked over with a smirk on his face and started cutting the tape binding the Envirofoam clam-shell apart. In seconds...the mouthwatering scent of what only could be Bar-B-que wafted into the air.

  “OK, uh, beings,” Peter said, beckoning to the natives, “Lunch!”

  The Lavana watched the proceedings with mouths gaping in wonder. They squatted around the waiting container of food, poking the Envirofoam curiously while looking in awe at the sky. Even the crew was a little in awe of Peter’s foresight.

  “Ten orders of Bob’s Authentic, Ancient, Texas-style Bar-B-Que, with sides”" Indeed, there were ten large orders of pork ribs with coleslaw and baked beans, piping hot, with a couple orders of hot wings and sauce.

  “I had them shipped by rocket delivery from the space station before we left for Lavana, I thought they might come in handy. Who doesn't like BBQ? Hmm?” Peter waved a rib around for emphasis and nudged John happily.